


and the window's open

by coricomile



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alien Technology, Bodyswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 10:43:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3444191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'd laugh," Gwen said as she took in the pair of them. "But this has almost become so normal as not to be funny anymore."</p>
            </blockquote>





	and the window's open

"I'd laugh," Gwen said as she took in the pair of them, "but this has almost become so normal as not to be funny anymore." Ianto scowled, remembering his brief, uncomfortable time as a woman. This was both better and somehow worse. 

"Could you not with the jokes?" He asked, folding his arms over his chest. His chest, which was now much broader than it had been an hour ago. 

"Sorry," Gwen said, clearly not sorry at all. Beside him, Jack grinned manically. It looked strange on his face. 

On _Ianto's_ face. 

"Stop that," he said, and Jack threw him a pout instead. That was even stranger. "I'm not going in to your meetings. Just so you know."

"They expect me there," Jack said. Ianto squirmed at the sound of his own voice with Jack's flat American accent. 

"As they have for every other meeting I've attended on your behalf." He glowered, but Jack didn't look the least bit cowed. To be fair, Ianto thought, Jack's stern looks were never actually any sort of terrifying. Something to do with his face. Ianto sighed. 

"You have your domestic," Gwen said, stepping back towards the door of the office lightly. "I'll go back downstairs and see if I can't clean up that mess."

She looked gleeful, and Ianto wanted to hate her just a bit. Why did he have to always deal with the body swapping and the bugs inside his body and the, well, everything. Give him an abduction. Gwen could deal with the bloody alien infestations next time. 

"Cheer up," Jack said when the door closed. He sat on the edge of his desk and leaned back. "It could have been worse."

"You're right," Ianto said. He straightened his braces and pulled himself up to his full height. That, at least, wasn't much different. "Could have been a cat."

"No love for the furry and four legged?" Jack spread his knees, typical Harkness posturing, and the fabric of his trousers pulled tight over his crotch. Ianto politely looked away from the soft swell of his own penis. 

He bloody well hated the body swapping pronouns. It made his head ache. 

"Had a cat once," he said to the wall. "It ate holes in all my jumpers." Jack laughed, and Ianto's voice came out thick and rich. 

"It'll be alright," Jack said. He reached forward and pulled Ianto in by the belt. "The device broke, we'll fix it. Easy as that."

"I really miss Tosh sometimes." Ianto fidgeted with his hands until the ache in his chest passed. 

The pain when he thought of Tosh or Owen or Lisa- _Lisa_ , god- had stopped being quite so sharp. In time, it would fade away. He'd think about drinks at the bar and silly word games and bright laughter and be able to smile. He'd always loved too deeply, and the cut of their loss would never be any easier to handle. 

He wondered, not for the first time, how Jack managed to handle it. 

"Me too," Jack said quietly. He pasted on a smile. Fake. Ianto knew too well what false cheer looked like on himself. "Sure you don't want to go to the UNIT meeting? It's in London! Get you out of the office, into the fresh sunny air-"

"Not on your life." Ianto rolled his sleeves up, took a step back, and reached for the folders left long unattended on Jack's desk. "Don't forget these. All of them are signed and sealed."

"You're getting good at my signature," Jack said as he flipped through a packet. Ianto pressed his lips together. He wouldn't dignify him with a response. It wasn't his job to do the paperwork, but Jack had all of eternity to leave it to the side and would if given the chance. Jack sighed and held out his hand. “Wrist strap.”

Ianto undid the clasp, sliding it off and placing it gently into Jack’s palm. He touched the pale strip of skin where it normally sat. He’d never seen this stretch of skin before. He’d seen every other place, up close and intimate, but this fifteen square centimeters of skin was completely and totally foreign. 

Jack undid the cuff of Ianto’s shirt, pocketing his cufflink. Ianto took the manipulator back, wrapping it around his wrist and doing the fastenings up again. It hung a little loose, slipping up to the heel of Jack’s thumb. Ianto smoothed the sleeve back down, hooked the cufflink, and took a step back. 

"We'll see you after, sir," Ianto said, with as much authority as he could manage. He turned on his heel, stumbling a bit in Jack's worn boots, and marched out of the office. 

He'd always dealt with the strange by soldiering on. Today would be no different. 

\---

"That is so _strange_ ," Gwen said. She glanced up at Ianto as she took her coffee, nose crinkling. Ianto looked down at himself and shrugged. "I can't get over seeing Jack do the washing up. I feel like I should film it for prosperity."

"Technically, Jack still isn't doing the washing," Ianto said. He folded the tea tray under his arm. "He's prancing around in his office, which is all Torchwood as usual."

"I do not _prance_ ," Jack said, frowning down at them from the upper walkway. "Do I prance?"

"A bit," Gwen and Ianto said together. They shared a look and grinned at one another. 

“Don’t you have to be off?” Ianto asked. He had plans of his own for delving into the 1892 section of the archive. Before she’d- Tosh had given him a handy sticky labeler that didn’t decay the same way ink did. It wasn’t the most professional tool, but it did work wonders. “UNIT expects punctuality.”

“You’re really trusting me to go as you?” Jack asked. He leaned over the railing, his tie dangling over into empty space. His jacket was gone- Ianto would have to eventually find it. He _liked_ that jacket- but his waistcoat was still on. He’d done up his hair the way he always did, but around Ianto’s face it looked strange. He looked-

“I look like a teenager,” Ianto said, blinking at him. Jack grinned. Ianto considered growing a beard. He’d never realized just how young he looked. It was irritating. “UNIT and I have a decent relationship. If you botch that by being- well, you, you can look forward to going to any future meetings on your own. As yourself.”

“Just be-” Gwen faltered, looking up at Ianto guiltily. “Just be demure. Listen instead of talk. You can do that, can’t you?”

“I am not _demure_.” Ianto tightened his fingers around the tea tray. 

“No,” Gwen said quickly. “Of course not.” Jack laughed. Ianto threw the tray at him and was pleased to see it catch him in the chest. 

“I’ve got work to do,” he said, aiming himself at the archives. “Please go to the meeting, keep your mouth shut, and come back without breaking anything vital.” He added a _you bastard_ in his head. Trust Jack to make his reputation into a joke. 

\---

Ianto twisted the knobs of the labeller, trying to match the neat Arial letters up with the past archivist’s scrawling, messy script. He was getting used to Jack’s thicker, shorter fingers, getting used to accounting for the extra few inches of space his body took up. A few boxes had been made accidental carnage on his first trip through- too much shoulder, less hips- but it was getting better. Easier. 

Every once in a while, Gwen would ask him a question through the comms, or give him an update on her own project, but it was otherwise quiet. Ianto liked the quiet, always had. It gave him a place to just stop thinking about anything other than the task ahead of him. 

If he kept at pace, he’d be up to 1897 by lunch and well into the 1900s by time Jack returned. 

“I think I might have found a way to fix the thingy,” Gwen said, just as Ianto was preparing himself to order in curry. She hesitated just enough for Ianto to sigh, waiting for the bad news. “It might take a while, though.”

“I’m shocked,” Ianto said. He set the labeller on the tiny, scarred desk in the center of the room and rolled down his sleeves. Sweat stuck the thin cotton of his shirt to the small of his back uncomfortably. It itched. He wondered for a moment how Jack dealt with it. “Something Torchwood going quick and easy? Unheard of.”

“When Jack gets back, we can talk about it,” Gwen offered. 

“Brief him, I’m ordering lunch.” Ianto switched off his comm, tucked his phone into his pocket, and headed for the front office. 

Ten minutes after he placed the order, the bell above the door rang. He looked up automatically, and was mostly surprised when he saw himself walk in. Jack gave him a sheepish grin.

“Would you believe me if I said the meeting was cancelled due entirely to UNIT matters?” Jack asked. 

“What did you call in?” Ianto crossed his arms over his chest, tapping his fingers slowly. Jack was a phenomenal leader- not that Ianto would ever say it out loud- but his management skills were for shit. How Torchwood ran for so long with him in charge would forever be a mystery. “And how hard will I have to work to diffuse it later?”

“Just a quick informational call about a Filaxin drop pod in Essex. It’s empty, but they don’t know that.” Jack broadened his shoulders, trying to make up for Ianto’s natural lack of presence. “By time they find it and examine it, the meeting would have been over for hours.”

“You’re awful, and I don’t condone your behavior in any way.” Ianto sighed and dropped his arms. Mandatory reprimand for bad behavior issued. He couldn’t change Jack’s behavior, but he could at least voice his concerns and hope. “Gwen says she found a way to fix the device.”

“Great!” Jack clapped his hands together, smiling broadly. Ianto frowned, making a note to get a haircut. And some more sleep. The dark spaces under his eyes were incredibly unflattering. 

“Meeting room in ten,” Ianto said. “You’ll forgive me for not ordering lunch for you.”

“Are you going to let this go any time soon?” Jack flipped the door sign to closed and turned the lock. It was almost like watching footage of himself. Ianto turned off the lights and powered down the computer. It was early, but he’d never been great at keeping the office open regular hours anyway. Consequence of the actual job.

“No,” he said and pressed the switch under the desk. Gwen looked up when they entered, eyes widening. “Apparently, there’s been a Filaxin drop pod sighting in Essex.”

“Oh, Jack, you didn’t.” Gwen frowned at him over her computer.

“It’s harmless!” Jack threw his hands up. “I dropped it there decades ago! Couldn’t even sell it as space junk.”

“Sell it?” Ianto asked, eyes narrowing. “What were you doing trying to sell-”

“That’s neither here nor there,” Jack said, barrelling over him. Ianto made a note to ask about it later. Preferably when he was back in his own body, with his own facial expressions. “What have you got for me, Gwen?”

“Tosh had a contact in Brecon who studied Gorvath tech,” Gwen said. There was a curve at the edge of her mouth that meant she, too, would be pestering Jack about his comment. “You said Gorvath, right?”

“Govathian biotranslater,” Jack said, picking up a piece of the shattered device. One fall, Ianto thought. It took _one_ five inch fall and shattered like the screen of a cheap mobile. “Not a particularly good piece of equipment, but useful for the Gorvaths.”

“What was it meant to actually do?” Ianto asked. 

“It removed the spirit of a dying Gorvath and put it into a mourning vase or a willing host.” Jack caressed the shiny, polished edge of the device. “Just think. It could have put us into the same body.”

“God save me from ever sharing a body with you,” Ianto said, immediately regretting it when Jack frowned at him.

“I don’t think us mere mortals could handle the inside of your head,” Gwen added. Jack shrugged. “I sent Mr. Davies an email, and he said he’d be willing to take a look.”

“But-”.

“But we’ll have to bring it to him,” Gwen said. “And he’s also a bit- Well. He’s niney. Says his hands don’t work as well as they used to.”

“Better an arthritic expert than nothing,” Jack said. “Ianto, grab a box and the keys. We’re going to Brecon. Gwen, think you can hold the fort?”

“Nothing I haven’t done before. Ianto, love, can I get a coffee before you go? I’ve got a splitting headache-”

“Not a problem.” Ianto left them, puffing out his cheeks and listing the things they’d need in his head. 

He hated leaving Cardiff for longer than a few hours. Nothing out there but bad and worse. Once upon a time, all he’d wanted was to escape. New cities, new people, new _everything_. He wondered what it said about him that all his wanderlust had died when Lisa had. 

“It’ll be alright,” Jack said as Ianto finished up Gwen’s coffee. He was leaned back against Ianto’s desk, arms folded and legs apart. Army posture at eighty-one degrees. “It might take a few days, maybe a week. But Tosh trusted this guy, and you should too.”

“I never said I didn’t, sir.” Ianto linked his fingers through the handle of the mug and lifted it in a silent toast. “Be done in a moment.”

“You’re a peach,” Gwen said as he set the mug on her desk. “Mr. Davies’ information is on your PDA. He’s excited to get to work on the project. He keeps saying that. Project.” She glanced up at him, her face drawn beneath her bangs, and Ianto wondered if Jack had been giving the trust speech to the wrong person.

“Ring us if you need anything,” Ianto said. She smiled at went back to work. She wouldn’t call. Not unless the Hub caught fire. She never did. 

Ianto collected a box from the corner of Jack’s office, meant for mailing files but still, always, empty. He deposited the fragments of the device inside, tucked in a few blank pieces of paper in for preservation, and closed it. He wasn’t surprised to find Jack watching him when he turned around. 

“Come on,” Jack said, reaching for his greatcoat. He blinked down at it for a moment before holding it up. Ianto rolled his shoulders, turned his back, and let Jack slide it onto him. 

“I could almost get used to that,” Ianto said as he adjusted the collar. 

“If you want service,” Jack said with a leer, “all you have to do is ask.” He smoothed the thick fabric of the shoulders down, fingers dipping in to brush against Ianto’s neck. “I’m very amiable.”

“I’ll file that away for future use.” For a moment, Ianto let himself lean in. He let himself think about kissing Jack, about shoving him into the wall and rubbing up against him. They hadn’t had a moment alone in days. Then he saw his own face looking hopefully at him and took a step back. “Right. Brecon.”

“Ianto-”

“Like you said, we don’t know how long we’ll be this way. Might as well get used to it.” Ianto patted his pockets, satisfied when he felt the familiar canister of spray and outline of gun. He’d traded in Jack’s Webley for his own standard glock. One less thing to adjust to. 

“Right.” Jack followed him out, hands tucked into his pockets and stretching out the wool. 

\---

Mister Timothy Davies was a wrinkled old man in a wrinkled old wheelchair with bright eyes and brighter white hair. He greeted them at the door of his flat with a rusty voice and hurried them inside. Inside, wires and bits of metal took up almost every vacant space.

“When your miss Cooper wrote, I was expecting to see miss Sato,” Timothy said. He wheeled himself into the kitchen and pulled the kettle off the stove. Ianto hurried forward to take it from him. “Smart one, that girl. Haven’t got the chance to meet her, but we had many good conversations.”

“Toshiko died earlier this year,” Jack said, his voice clipped but not unkind. Ianto busied himself with making the tea. “She spoke highly of you.”

“That’s a shame,” Timothy said, his head lowering and his gnarled hand making the sign of the cross over his chest. “World needs more people like her.”

“It does,” Jack said softly. He held up the box and handed it over to Timothy. “We’ve had some trouble with this. Gorvath biotransmitter. Think you can do something with it?” 

Ianto laid out the fragile cups on the bare spaces of the sitting room table as Timothy examined the pieces of the orb. He’d never favored tea, but the leaves in his cup smelled sweet and strong. He fussed with a group of wires on the sofa before settling gently on the arm. 

“You poor thing,” Timothy said, fingertips stroking the shell of the device with the same care Jack had hours ago. Ianto noticed the fine tremors in his fingers and looked down at his own steady hands. Jack’s hands. “I don’t think it can be repaired.”

“Are you certain?” Ianto asked, words bullying past his lips before he can catch them. “Sorry.” 

“Yes.” Timothy lifted another shard and a weak spark flew off of it. Behind him, Jack looked grim. “Give me a week, I might be able to replicate it. Think I’ve got some good starting pieces here somewhere.” He placed the box on the counter and wheeled up to the table. He looked between them, rheumy eyes narrowed. “You used it.”

“Not intentionally,” Jack said. If Ianto didn’t know better, he’d say Jack sounded sheepish. Jack didn’t do sheepish. Jack didn’t do anything but bold and cocksure. It was in his nature. “But there were effects.”

“Drink your tea, boy,” Timothy said, lifting his own mug with trembling fingers. Tea sloshed onto the wool blanket covering his lap, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I’ll start in the morning and contact miss Cooper when I’ve got something for you.”

The idea of anyone calling Jack boy, of anyone ordering him around, was enough to make Ianto laugh. He hid it as best he could in his cup, but Jack's scowl told him he'd been caught out. That, Ianto thought as he looked at the narrowness of his own eyes, was a proper scowl. Not the ridiculous farce of one Jack's face always fell into. 

Jack drank his tea. 

Timothy showed them out with the promise of keeping them updated on his progress. Ianto felt no different than he had before they left Cardiff. 

"A week," Ianto said as he slid into the passenger side of the SUV. "Maybe."

"Have faith. Tosh thought he was good, so we should too." Jack pulled onto the road, eyes forward. He placed one hand on Ianto's knee. It rested heavy and warm, the bump of wrist strap under his shirt obvious and a little foreign. 

Ianto nodded and looked out the window. A week in Jack's body. A week of looking at himself from across the Hub. A week of celibacy. He dropped his head against the cool glass and sighed. 

It could be worse, he reminded himself. This was Torchwood. It could always be worse. 

\---

Ianto spent days one and two in the archives, hiding while pretending he wasn't. Jack didn't call him on it, but Gwen gave him concerned looks every time he poked his head into the main level. He loved her dearly, but he was going to spit in her coffee if she cooed at him one more time. 

On day three, he woke up alone in his own flat, cock pressing against his belly insistently. Jack hadn't touched him in days. He felt like a teenager all over again, which seemed incredibly unfair. 

If he wanted to be honest, Jack had tried. Hands sliding across his back and a quick snog in his office over coffee that Gwen had interrupted. Ianto had turned him down at every suggestion, finding excuses to turn heel and flee with his tail tucked between his legs. He wanted to fall back into their push and pull, wanted his mouth and hands on Jack's body. And that was the stickler. He wanted _Jack's_ body, not his own. 

Ianto had never been one for insecurities. Girls liked him well enough in school, and Jack's endless goading to spend as many hours as they could naked certainly reaffirmed his confidence in himself. He was no Jack, but pulling had never been a problem. 

But knowing he was a decent enough looking man didn't lead him to want to see himself fucking. He'd had a girlfriend once who'd wanted to film them. At the time, he'd blanched and said no, no, _god_ no. It was almost the same thing now, tainted, as always, with the touch of Torchwood. 

Guilty, Ianto curled his fingers around his cock. He watched his hand and tried hard not to think about Jack doing the same thing in this body. He failed miserably, but he had tried. 

\---

“That’s it,” Gwen said, hands firm on her hips and lips pressed together. Ianto blinked up at her from his crouch, marking his page in the Har’lin text. His back ached, but he refused to sit on the floor. “I’ve not see you for days, and Jack is driving me _mad_.”

“Isn’t he always?” Ianto turned back to the text, narrowing his eyes at the notes in the margins. When he was finished, he’d find Jack and ask him if he knew he needed glasses, or if his vanity kept him from wearing them. 

“Oh, no you don’t.” Gwen prodded his thigh with her boot. “Up you get. You are taking me out for lunch. Some sun will be good for you. All you’ve done is sulk.”

“I don’t _sulk_ ,” Ianto said. He was starting to sound like Jack. He stood and dusted off his trousers. “I do have duties other than making the coffee and clearing the bins.”

“Don’t be that way.” Gwen grabbed him around the wrist and marched him to the stairs. “We can go to that nice sandwich shop, have a drink, and remove the stick from your spine.”

Ianto let himself be dragged bodily through the Hub, up the stairs, and out onto the street. The sunlight blinded him, noonday and too bright. Gwen didn’t let him go, but she did let him walk under his own power. She made him feel like a child sometimes. As they strolled down the bay, he wondered idly if she’d dreamt of being an older sister. 

They took a table outside, Gwen insistent enough that Ianto didn’t bother arguing. 

“So,” Gwen said, blowing the steam from her tea. She leaned in, glancing over her shoulder, before grinning at him. Ianto sighed and picked at his chips. They smelled vinegary and hot. “What’s it like then? Have you and he-”

“Please don’t,” Ianto said. He speared a fat, greasy chip with his fork and wondered if he really should print up appropriate discussion topics for coworkers. Rugby, yes. The Queen, by all means. Films, yes, please. What he did with his cock? Not so much. Not unless if was volunteered. He bit off the end of the chip. Alright, fine. Maybe he could use a pamphlet as well. 

“Sorry,” Gwen said. “But you really haven’t? I figured Jack would be-”

“No time,” Ianto said, stabbing at another chip. He wasn’t hungry. He hadn’t been since they’d swapped. Not really. He wondered if it was Jack’s metabolism or nerves or if he was just thinking about it too hard. All of them sounded reasonable enough. “We do have taxing jobs. It’s not all groping in the storerooms.”

Gwen raised an eyebrow at him but let it drop. Three days done, four to go. He’d manage or kill something spectacularly. Whichever came first.

\---


End file.
